


My Friend and Partner

by Dreadfort



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Canon Related, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Fic Exchange, Gift Exchange, M/M, Post Reichenbach, johnlockchallenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreadfort/pseuds/Dreadfort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An experiment with toast has John up at an ungodly hour and needless to say, the morning doesn't start well. But a mysterious email for Sherlock just might change all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Friend and Partner

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Johnlock Challenges January Grab Bag Challenge!
> 
> Prompt was from Magaretto - “Dear Sherlock, today is the 1000th day since you left me.” with a 1000-5000 word limit, one week to write.

The smoke detector’s screech filled John’s ears and threw him into wakefulness, images of khaki uniforms and gunfire flashing across his mind as he blearily tried to work out what the hell was going on. The sunrise was glowing quietly behind the blinds, casting a golden tinge to the room that John failed to appreciate when he saw the clock reading 6:32. For a moment he was grateful he didn’t have work, but this descended into severe annoyance at being unable to enjoy his weekend sleep in as the shrill wail continued unabated. Whatever the hell Sherlock was doing – and it was definitely Sherlock doing it, the sheets beside him were empty – if he didn’t turn that god damn thing off John was really going to let him have it. 

It was toast. Burnt toast. Its smell had finally drifted into the bedroom. John crushed his pillow over his face, mood worsening by the moment. 

“I swear to god Sherlock, if you don’t turn that blasted thing off in the next ten seconds I will shoot it and then you,” John bellowed, flinging the pillow across the room in exasperation. 

_There’s no way I’m getting back to sleep after this,_ John thought, and stomped out to confront Sherlock about the alarm. 

\----

Ten minutes later John had a cup of tea brewing, and Sherlock was sulking over his chemistry set. Figuring there wouldn’t be much talking for the next while, John stirred in milk before heading over towards the desk and his computer.

John checked that Sherlock’s attention was on his microscope before lifting up the laptop’s lid, but was still surprised when the login screen presented itself. He tapped in a few keystrokes before pausing; hoping a break in the rhythm might throw off Sherlock’s password guessing ability. In all honesty John had no idea how he managed it. 

A few taps later and ‘logging in....’ flashed up. John looked smugly across to Sherlock, who’d withdrawn from the microscope and was watching. 

The computer chimed. John’s smile vanished as several internet pages on dissection and chemical compounds, and Sherlock’s email were summoned onto the screen. 

“I thought we’d run out of every possible variant of ‘piss of Sherlock’” said Sherlock, returning to his slides. “Fortunately, I do speak French.”

John breathed in and out very deliberately before systematically closing every tab. He’d just cleared the page on a comparative analysis of dog hair when Sherlock’s email pinged.

“I’ll get that, shall I?” said John.

“Please,”

“No subject line. From a ‘cassandramason@gmail.com.”

“Delete it.” Said Sherlock immediately.

“Well no, what if it’s a case?” As much as John was annoyed with Sherlock right now, he’d prefer the flashy, excited Sherlock over the angry, sulky, regressed-into-childhood one currently sitting in the kitchen.

“It isn’t.” Sherlock was abrupt. John clicked the email anyway. 

“’Dear Sherlock, today is the 1000th day science you left me.’” John read slowly. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means nothing. I told you to delete it.”

“’Science you left me’? Must’ve meant ‘since’.” John muttered. Sherlock made a scoffing noise into his instruments. 

“Hang on,” said John, “The email’s from a Cassandra Mason. That sounds familiar.”

“I expect so.”

“Must have been a case .... Mason ... wait – wait. The Charles Milverton case, where we broke into his house and saw him murdered – you – you got engaged to the cleaning lady – Cass – _SHERLOCK!!!”_

John threw the laptop onto the chair and strode over to his flatmate. Grabbing Sherlock’s shoulder he pulled him away from the microscope.

John pointed viciously at the laptop. “What the bloody _hell_ have you done!”

Sherlock put his hands up in mock surrender. “I explained the situation to her.”

“Did you.” said John shortly. 

“Yes. It’s hardly my fault she feels the need to send me those ridiculous emails every other week.”

“Sherlock, not everyone takes ‘it was for a case’ as an appropriate reason to get engaged!” John rubbed his eyes in exasperation. “You’ve never replied?”

“They’re all the same,” Sherlock said, as though this explained everything. 

“Right. Right – well, I will. Because this needs to stop.”

Sherlock gave a sly grin. “Feeling threatened?” he called as John returned to the armchair. John raised his eyebrows.

“Hardly.”

John hit the ‘reply’ button and began pecking out a response. “Was that case really a thousand days ago?” He asked. “Time bloody flies, doesn’t it.” 

Sherlock gave a non-committal hum. 

“That’s what – two and a half years? Just over? Blimey.”

John froze mid-type. That couldn’t be right. The case had been one of the first they’d taken after Sherlock had returned from – after Sherlock had returned. That was slightly over a year ago, no mistake; _that_ date was seared into John’s memory. 

John clicked out of Sherlock’s inbox and opened up his blog. Quickly scrolling through the cases archive, he soon found ‘Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’; probably not his most inventive title. John clicked on it and saw, clearly: 

_Posted: 539 days ago_

That was strange. How could Cass Mason be so off on the dates if she was sending emails so frequently?

He clicked back into the inbox and searched ‘cassandramason@gmail.com’. 46 results pulled up, and these were the ones Sherlock hadn’t deleted. John breathed out a low whistle. He clicked on the most recent one, from two weeks ago.

_Sherlock, 525 since you left me._

Well, she had the dates correct in the last email. John clicked another.

_Sherlock, 513 since you left me._

Another.

_Sherlock, 507 since you left me._

They were all the same, bar the numbers changing – except the one that had come this morning.

“Sherlock,” said John in a tone that caught his attention immediately, “Sherlock, something weird is going on with these emails.”

“Show me,” he said, and John came over with the laptop. 

John pointed out what he’d found. “All the same wording,” he reiterated. “Except the latest one. It could be a message?”

“A message? More likely she’s finally cracked it after all these years. Just tell her to piss off and be done.”

John pulled his mouth absent mindedly. “Why would she get the date wrong? And write ‘science? Unless –“

John strode over to the desk underneath the bison skull and grabbed a pen and paper. With quick flourishes he copied down both emails and began highlighting the differences. Unlike Sherlock, who could hold everything in his ridiculous brain, John needed to map ideas on paper to see their connections.

“What’s mostly bothering me,” he said to Sherlock as he worked, “is the ten hundred part.”

“Thousand.” Sherlock corrected.

“What?”

“You said ten hundred.” 

“Really? Old habits die hard, I guess.” He circled ‘today’ on the email, smiling slightly at his mishap. Ten hundred ... all this time, and he was still a soldier. Well, he was looking for clues. John noted it down.

The other stand out was her misuse of ‘science’ instead of ‘since’. Could have been autocorrect? But she’d never gotten it wrong before and god knows how many times she’d typed out that email. So if the use of the word science was deliberate, then that could mean – 

It could mean she wanted answers. Something to be solved.

_‘Dear Sherlock, today is the 1000th day science you left me’_ John read. 

Make that into: _‘Dear Sherlock, today something needs to be solved ten hundred hours’._

John strode over to Sherlock, cleared the desk in front of him with a sweep of his arm, ignoring his flatmate’s indignant cries, and slammed down his piece of paper.

“It’s a message,” John announced. “I’m sure of it. Look – I’ve circled the differences. The first one – ‘Dear Sherlock’. Not just ‘Sherlock’. So maybe she wants something. It’s a plead. The next one – ‘today’; she’s really specified it. So something happens today. My mistake from before – what if that’s actually what she means? One thousand is actually ten hundred. She didn’t count it wrong, its a time – ten am!”

Sherlock had gone from staring at the paper to staring at John, who was now pacing around the kitchen in excitement.

“Next word is ‘science’, she’d deliberately spelt it wrong, and so we look at the meaning of the word she used. Science is how to find answers to questions – that’s you. That’s your job. She needs you. The last bit, ‘you left me’ is the same, maybe she’s trying to show that it’s really her; it’s really Cass Mason sending the email. Which means –“

“It means she’s held somewhere under duress.” Sherlock finished off, now also standing.

“Exactly!” John cried. “It fits – it all fits – it means, ‘Please Sherlock, I need your help at 10am today. In danger. Cass Mason.”

John stopped pacing on the back of this revelation, and stood, beaming at Sherlock who was staring at him in undisguised awe. 

“That was good, wasn’t it?” John said, delighted in himself and a little big smug. 

“That was brilliant, John,” said Sherlock breathlessly. 

John laughed. “We seem to have switched roles.”

Sherlock didn’t reply in favour of continuing to gaze at him with some kind of furious passion. 

“It’s half seven,” said John, checking his watch. “We’ve still got time to find her, although we should probably hurry.”

He turned to go to their room to grab a jacket, but Sherlock had seized his arm and pulled John back towards himself.

“You –“ Sherlock began, but shook his head impatiently, throwing away words in favour of kissing John fervently. John smiled into it before returning Sherlock's passion. 

“Sherlock ... the case,” John breathed mid kiss. 

Sherlock kissed him a last time before breaking off. He still had John’s face cupped gently in his hands. 

“I - love you,” said Sherlock with great intensity, and John’s face purpled with embarrassment and pleasure. He broke away from Sherlock’s intense gaze, heartbeat bursting with the pressure of suddenly doubling in speed. 

“That’s ... that’s the first time you’ve said that...” John whispered. Sherlock brought his hands down to John’s shoulders and gathered themselves together into a close hug. John’s face was half buried in his shoulder, and he lent into Sherlock’s neck. 

“Not the first time I’ve thought it,” Sherlock murmured into his ear, hands rubbing slow circles on John’s back. “And definitely won’t be the last.”

John could hear the smile in his voice, and drew back for another quick kiss. Sherlock took his hand. 

“Come on!” Sherlock cried, and bolted down the stairs, dragging behind him a John laughing with exhilarated glee at the madness of everything, their hands warm together. They burst onto the street, Sherlock calling for a taxi.

As the cab pulled up, John seized Sherlock’s scarf with his free hand and pulled him close.

“For the record, I love you too,” John said, and just when he thought he couldn’t get any happier, the expression on Sherlock’s face did exactly that.


End file.
